Hard to be Faithful
by Rapier-of-Red
Summary: They know that they can never be together. Francis and Arthur are the companions, the partners, they chose to try and fill the void left by each other. The ache never leaves. USAxCAN. My first story ever so please be gentle.


Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers or the song "Lips of an Angel". They belong to their respective owners. I am merely borrowing them.

Warning: Mentions of non-explicit sexual situations between two males. I'm not sure if it's deemed M or T but I'll stick with M to be safe.

This is my first story ever so please be gentle! Constructive critism is encouraged, however. Flames, though, will be used to heat my cold, Canadian home.

Hard to be Faithful

It's silent in the room, still; peaceful. The moonlight filters through opaque blue curtains, casting splashes of candescent light into an otherwise dark room. A haze of sweat and sex lingers in the air, the feeling a mix of affection and heart ache. He watches the pools and flickers of light as they skitter across his lover's face. Reaching out absent mindedly, he smooths gentle circles on naked shoulders. His sleeping counterpart hums lightly in sleep, but makes no other movement.

It should be perfect, he muses to himself, it should be all I've ever wanted.

It isn't.

"_...You know we can't! We...I ... Dammit! We can't, _we can't_, I _love_ you but we can't."_

_He smiles at the other, a broken, plastic little thing, shared between what feels like two strangers, in the middle of a Manhattan sidewalk at midnight. There is snow falling around them, panting breaths ghosted out into an otherwise dark night. He chuckles dimly and replies that it's alright. Even when they both know that it is not._

Guilt and sorrow are battling for dominance in his heart and mind, clashing wildly; untamed. Guilt, at trying to pretend he loves someone that he doesn't and sorrow, at not being able to have the one he wants.

_He pretends it doesn't hurt to see someone else's hands on the other. To compensate, he tries to make himself feel better by staying intimate with his current partner whenever he can. Still, when their eyes meet across the table and he catches the same, desperate, longing reflected in his perfect match in violet-blue, he can't help but fall deeper in love with the wrong person._

Lying back down, he closes his eyes; trying to block out those memories and lure himself to sleep. One hand finds his heart and rests there, clenched in a fist. _It isn't fair_. He breathes slowly and deeply, regulating his increasingly erratic heart beat. It doesn't take long, and he is moments away from sleep when he hears his cell phone buzz.

_The first time Alfred hears something he wants to hear from the other is from a pleading text message received at 4 in the morning. The ache in his chest beats restlessly, and he can't help but reply instantly. _

"_Okay."_

For a moment, he contemplates just letting it ring. Who in their right mind would consider calling at 3:30 in the morning?

"_...I know it's late, but I, I just wanted to hear you. I can't do this. I want to see you. I _need_ to see you. Tonight?"_

With a sigh, he grabs the phone off the night stand and squints at the caller ID. It takes a minute for his eyes adjust to the light, and he wonders why the person hasn't hung up yet. When the name registers in his mind, he is almost positive that his heart stops. As quickly as he can without waking his partner, he climbs out of bed; grabbing a pair of boxers off the floor on his way out of the room.

_They meet in a cold, non judgemental hotel room. Alfred knocks once, twice and, before he can attempt a third, the door_ _is flung open in an act of desperation. The person on the other side of it is just as desperate. _

"_Alfred," he breathes, as if speaking any louder would shatter the illusion. Violet-blue flickers to meet sky as he pulls the other into the hotel room; into his arms. "Oh God, Alfred..."_

"_Mattie, oh, _Matthew_," Alfred replies, tugging the other's body as close as can be._

_In moments, they are lip-locked, the kiss ablaze in passion and longing. A longing so deep it resounds in each breath, each urgent caress, each shared sigh. _

_The kiss leads to the bed, and they are pulling at clothes, gasping and drastic, in dire need of the other. When finally, after all this waiting, all this yearning, Alfred pushes into Matthew, the cry they share is filled with emotion. Tears pour from violet eyes, in ecstacy and in sorrow. He kisses the tears away, gentle hands running idly up smooth sides, hips moving together perfectly. He whispers sweet nothings, coos of love and endearment, of hope and of happy endings. Matthew takes his hand in his and holds it to his heart. _

_They finish this way, together, hands pressed against the ache in Matthew's chest. The warmth floods through their bodies and for an orgasm-blind moment they can believe that everything is alright._

_Even though it isn't._

Alfred flips his phone open, pressing it to his ear with a quiet hum of, "Hello?"

It takes a moment, but he hears his reply.

"...Did I wake you? I-I'm sorry, I–"

Alfred makes a hushing noise, a soft sound, and asks, "Mattie? Why are you calling so late? It's kind of hard to talk right now..."

He hears hiccoughs on the other line, a melodic sort of sobbing.

"Hey, what's wrong, Matt? Why are you crying?"

He can picture the way Matthew is sitting, clutching the phone to his ear in another room, as Francis is no doubt asleep in their bedroom. The thought makes his heart sick and his stomach sicker. The thought of hiding from their lovers makes him feels guilty. There is nothing he can do, though, and this he knows. They know that they can never be together. Francis and Arthur are the companions, the partners, they chose to try and fill the void left by each other. The ache never leaves.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I just needed to hear you," comes the watery reply.

"Does Francis know you're on the phone?"

"No, I don't think he has a clue..."

_They get together this way almost every other week. They know that it's wrong. They know that they may break the hearts of their lovers should they find out. They just can't live without the other._

"_We can't keep meeting up like this, Matt. You know it only makes us feel worse," he reasons, holding Matthew close to him under the cheap hotel blanket. He traces Matthew's heart, feels and listens to its pulse and wonders if it's possible for a heart to sound broken._

_For surely theirs do._

"_I know, Alfred. I know," Matthew replies, curling tighter into Alfred, head of blonde curls lying tucked into the crook between the elder's collarbone and neck. He searches soul piercing blue eyes, trying to find an answer to a question he is not even sure he knows. "This is the last time, I promise."_

_They both tear up at that, and pull each other closer for another round of bittersweet comfort. It's sobs instead of sighs, tears instead of cries of ecstacy but it's them, it's the two of them and -God why can't they be together? Surely something that feels so perfect cannot be immoral? _

"_This is the last time, I promise."_

"I need to see you, Alfred..." Matthew laments into the phone, his sadness palpable through the tones in his soft voice.

"I know, Matt. I do, too."

"Tonight?" is the quick, earnest -_oh God please say yes- _question asked. A question that is asked every time. He replies instantly.

"Okay."

"_This is the last time, I promise."_

_They both laugh a little at this. It comes off a little hysterical, a little desperate and a lot in love. They make this promise every time._


End file.
